


A Lesser Known B-Side

by falsettodrop



Series: En Vérité [2]
Category: Life with Derek
Genre: Clothing Kink, Communication, Cunnilingus, Developing Relationship, F/M, First Time, Making Out, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24723193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsettodrop/pseuds/falsettodrop
Summary: In which Derek attempts communication and Casey wears a very distracting hockey jersey.
Relationships: Casey McDonald/Derek Venturi
Series: En Vérité [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608781
Comments: 53
Kudos: 234





	A Lesser Known B-Side

**Author's Note:**

> Me writing smut about my greatest OTP from 2006 is the energy I needed in 2020. Let's fucking go. 
> 
> For my fellow Derek/Casey shippers through the 10+ years in this fandom; this is for you. And for my great friends who encouraged me to write ~Disney~ step-sibling sex, I love y'all a lot. I dedicate this one to [Daisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkGerberDaisies/pseuds/PinkGerberDaisies), who would've killed me if I never posted this (and that's probably not an exaggeration). Thanks for being my partner in step-sibs crime, bb! Next, it's your turn. >:)

Let one thing be clear, before getting into the nitty-gritty of the issue at hand: Derek is not emotional. He never has been, and he never will be. More important than that, though: he sure as hell isn’t going to become the sensitive one in a relationship with Casey McDonald of all fucking people, the self-appointed Queen of High Maintenance Relationships.So, really, he resents that she just accused him of being sensitive.

“ _I’m_ sensitive?” he echoes, in disbelief. Then, points to himself. “Me. I, Derek Venturi, am being sensitive about this.”

Casey, from her place at his dorm room desk, swivels in her chair. Primly, she crosses her arms and says in a steady tone: “Yes.”

From where he’s sitting on his bed, he scoffs. Once, and after her resolve does not melt, twice. Then, he gets so offended that he has to stand. “ _How_?”

Her eyes scan him from head to toe with contempt. Gesturing vaguely, she says, “Well, look at you.”

His right eye twitches. He doesn’t want to admit he’s offended, but. Well, it’s probably a little obvious from how he’s responding to her.

With a tired sigh, Casey turns in her chair, returning to her textbook. “Derek, I’m busy. You know that. I can’t just ditch my prior commitments to attend _your_ commitments.”

“I know that.” He does. He still wants her at his game, though. “But it’s our first real game of the season. We’re playing _Western_.”

She rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed by his response. “So the only reason you want me to come is because of some stupid school rivalry?”

“Uh, duh,” he says, despite the fact that it’s not even close to the primary reason he had wanted her there.

He can practically hear her internally monologue going: _Ugh, men_. He can read her so well, and he prides himself on that. The major problem is that he does not, and never will, understand her; she gets set off by the most random comments.

“That’s not a good reason,” she replies, tone much too light to truly be unbothered. “I don’t exist to stroke your ego, Derek.”

He raises his hands in defence. “I never said you did.”

“Maybe you didn’t say _that_ , but you literally said, and I quote”—her voice lowers in imitation of Derek’s—“‘Hey, want me to save you a seat at my game with the other babes?’”

Okay, when she repeats it back at him, it does sound kind of bad… but it had been a _joke_.

She continues, icily. “You reduced me to being one of your ‘babes’, Derek.” With a pointed glare, she turns in the chair again, returning to her notes.

He knows she’s not actually paying attention to her work, so he tells her, “That was a joke!”

In deadpan, she mutters without looking at him, “Ha-freakin’-ha, you should go into comedy.”

She could be _so_ frustrating sometimes. To clarify, or maybe to dig the knife in a bit deeper, he says: “So, you’re not coming—not because of prior commitments, but because you’re mad at me.”

Casey gives him a sharp look, the kind that he used to beg for. “That’s not true,” she replies, much too quick, so he clocks the lie for what it is.

“You’re such a _liar_ , Casey,” he says, gaining his fair share of annoyance. “Can we just bury this so you can come to the damn game?”

Apparently this is the wrong thing to say, because she gets even angrier. “No, we cannot.” She begins to shove her belongings into her book bag, and he’s about to question her when she says, “I’m getting dinner. In my _own_ dorm.”

Blinking from the turn of events, he says, “We were gonna get dinner.”

Shooting him a smile with the power to freeze a thousand suns, she replies, “Not anymore.”

For lack of better reply, he opts to breathe out, in disbelief: “You are such a—”

“A what?” she goads as she pulls her backpack over her shoulder, clearly looking for a fight. He can see the fire breathing out of her ears. “A _what_ , Derek?”

“A nutcase,” he finishes, daggers in his eyes. He hasn’t called her that since high school—it feels kind of juvenile, actually, but if she’s going to act like a child and _leave_ during an fight, then so is he.

She’s turning red now, and not in the way he likes. She’s furious. In retrospect, he probably should have avoided saying everything he’s said within the last five minutes, but alas. This is the point they are now at.

“And _you’re_ a jackass,” she says, so calm that he knows she’s screaming on the inside. “Call me when you’ve started acting like a decent human being again.”

“Call _me_ when you’re done acting like a prissy, tantrum-throwing—”

“Oh, _you’re_ one to talk about tantrums!” she seethes, before exiting the room with a door slam to boot. She sure loves her dramatic exits.

Whatever. What _ever_. He has other stuff to worry about than this bullshit.

>>>>>

Three days pass, which even he knows is ridiculous if he attempts rationalizing it.

He understands he’s being difficult and stubborn and making this ten times worse by not apologizing at her feet, but this is not just his fault. It’s her fault, too. Maybe less than it’s his fault, but she _knows_ how he gets about his hockey games; she must have known that he’d want her there. Why did she have to fight with him over it, over something that was so clearly a joke? He makes those types of jokes around her all the time, and she mostly finds it mildly annoying, not enough to do this.

Regardless: he might be stubborn, but Casey is ten times worse than him, which is the reason why he caves and attempts contact first.

 _This is dumb_ , he texts her, praying it works. _Can we get lunch or smth?_

She does not reply.

To be fair, it’s only been three hours, but those hours have been excruciating and he has felt every second. It’s a Saturday, so he doesn’t have class to distract himself. His friends are all out with their girlfriends or in their hometowns for the weekend. He doesn’t have plans—she _was_ his plan. He does not know what she wants. He attempted contact! He presented the olive branch! And she still refuses to talk to him. He isn’t about to apologize over text; he can do that in person.

And then, it hits him:

She’s waiting for him to come to her. She wants him to do a walk of shame to her room, feel the crushing defeat in every one of his steps. He knows her games by now; he can practically _feel_ how much she wants this from across campus.

He respects her ruthless nature, but he also feels immensely emasculated by this situation. Then again, he’d also known exactly what he was getting into when they got together. What can he say, he’s a masochist. That, or he’s whipped. Which he would never admit to, but, God, he _is_ and she fucking knows it.

Such a cruel, cruel woman.

(He loves her. Even if he hasn’t said the words yet, he does.

That’s why he’s willing to do this for her.)

This is how Derek ends up making the trek to Casey’s dorm, fifteen minutes walking distance from his own, too tired of this fight to be truly upset about the fact that he needed to be the one to initiate a truce.When he gets into the hallway and stares at her door, he sees the words she’s written on her dry-erase board.

 _Casey is in!_ punctuated with a smiley face, like she’s not a devil woman. Next to it, also in Casey’s handwriting, it reads: _Rachel is home until Sunday._

Since he started dating her, he knows that she adjusts what it says each time she leaves the room. She’s just like that.

He’s dating a goddamn day planner.

Swallowing his pride, he lifts both hands to knock on the door to the tune of that Switchfoot song he and Casey both love. He might be giving up, but he’s going to be at least a _little_ annoying about it. 

When he gets to the chorus, the door swings open. “Can you _be_ more of a nuisance?” he hears Casey ask.

“A noo-what, now?” he asks, before he actually looks at her.

And when he does, it is a _mistake_.She’s wearing his old hockey jersey.She’s wearing his old hockey jersey, and she’s paired it with a pair of yoga pants. Why is she wearing that? When did she steal it? Why does she look so fucking _hot_ in it? When did she get to be so evil? His mouth goes dry and his lips part with surprise.

She crosses her arms. “A _nuisance_ , Derek.”

He points at the jersey dumbly. “Where’d you get that?”

She looks down and flushes, and it immediately becomes clear that she didn’t realize what she was wearing when she answered the door. So, she isn’t intentionally evil, but she is a little thief. Instead of responding to him, she turns it around on him and says, “Is that what you came all the way here to say?”

Derek swallows, and looks from her choice of clothing to her face instead. “Uh,” is all he says. Poetic, Derek. Good one.

She rolls her eyes before she turns to walk back into the room. Branded on her back, like a stake of claim, says VENTURI in red caps. A thrill of possessiveness slithers through him, and he can feel the joints in his knees go weak. God _damn_ , Casey.

Casey sits on her bed and gestures for him to come inside. “Close the door.”

“Okay,” he says and does, in the tone of _yes, dear_ , though he’d probably agree to just about anything she asks of him at this moment. She pats the bed beside her, and he goes to sit down like an obedient puppy. He attempts not to think too hard about how whipped he is.

With her hands clasped in front of her, she says, very calm, “Let’s try this again.”

He blinks hard. “Okay.” Unable to keep his eyes on hers, they flicker down to look at the jersey again. God, she is seriously _cruel_. He wants to rip it off with his teeth.

She waits, and when he doesn’t say anything else, she sighs in exasperation and snaps her fingers in front of his face. “Derek. Why did you come here?”

He clears his throat. Right. The reason he came. He can do this. Even if she looks like that. Remember the monologue, Derek. “To apologize.”

She lifts her chin, waiting. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

“Uh,” Derek tries, “I’m sorry?”

She glares at him before asking, “Is that a _question_?”

“No, no,” he corrects, quickly, racking his brain for the speech he’d practiced before he came over. “Okay. Okay. Um, I’m sorry.”

She blinks at him twice, remaining firm in her iciness.

He forgets what he’d memorized. Fuck it. He dissolves before her eyes, hoping that his sincerity comes across and that he doesn’t forget anything when he says: “Casey, uh. I’m… I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t have made the joke.” He shrugs, scratching at his knee from the nerves. Off-script, he adds, unsure of if it’ll help him, “But you had to have known I was kidding. I joke like that all the time and you don’t care, so I think you picked a fight.”

Casey goes quiet for a beat before admitting with glaring reluctance, “You’re right.”

He points triumphantly. “See!” Ha.

“Okay, but you know I don’t like it when you call me names,” Casey jumps in, before he can run with it. “I hate when you mock me. You _know_ that.”

She does hate it, and he does know that. “Yeah,” Derek acknowledges, “I felt bad about that. I didn’t mean it.”

She gives a minuscule nod, picking at a loose thread on her pants. “I know.”

He’s silent for a while, and Casey does nothing but look at him knowingly and wait, like she’s aware that he’s working up the courage to get more words out. “Okay. So, I was frustrated,” he admits, very quiet. “It felt like you were attacking me. I just… wanted you at my game, y’know? That’s why I got all… weird.”

“I knew that,” Casey tells him, gently. Well, turns out he’s terrible at hiding his feelings after all. “But, Derek, that’s the _thing_. That’s why I was pissed.”

“Because…” he trails off, waiting with confusion.

She sighs. “Because I want you to communicate with me. This isn’t going to work if we don’t talk.”

He bulges his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “I don’t like talking.”

Casey gives him a look, almost fond. “Well, if you want to do this”—she points between them—“then you need to.”

“Fine,” Derek says, stiffly.

“Good.”

He jitters his leg before adding, “Don’t ignore me for three days next time we fight.” _Because it sucked and I missed you_ , he leaves unsaid, the words stuck in his throat like a lump he can’t pull out.

She softens, knowing as well as he does what he wanted to say. Her hand reaches for his, intertwining their fingers, squeezing them for dear life. “Yeah. Okay.”

He exhales, satisfied. “We done fighting, now?” he asks, just to make sure. She nods once, and he instantly tackles her across the bed. She squeals as he tickles her, before he wraps his arms around her midsection, resting his cheek against her stomach. Pressing a kiss at her abdomen, he says muffled against her clothes, “Wanna make out?”

She snorts, then cracks up. Her hand goes into his hair, grabbing a handful and pulling him to look at her. He blinks at her with exaggerated innocence. “Did you say sorry just so we could make out?”

“Maaaybe,” Derek sings, but he smiles so she knows he’s kidding.

“Der- _ek_ ,” she laughs, smoothing her fingers through his hair, and leans down to give him a kiss despite that. He has an overwhelmed moment, thinking of the turn his life has taken, and pulls back for a second to gaze at his girlfriend. His _girlfriend_. He would never admit this to her, but he can’t believe she’s even given him the time of day. He’s been obsessed with Casey since he met her, and he contemplates how 15-year-old Derek would feel, knowing that all those circles he used to run around 15-year-old Casey to get her attention would lead them here. He probably wouldn’t believe it. Fuck.

Casey’s face goes soft—like she’s cherishing the way he’s looking at her. He reaches up to touch the nape of her neck. “C’mere,” he whispers to her, applying pressure so she’ll follow him down and reward him with another kiss. He sinks into it in an instant, allowing her to submerge them both with the movement of her mouth against his. He really did miss her. It’s a little pathetic, if he’s being honest; they’d only been apart for three days. How did he become so attached to her? He’ll never understand.

He wonders if her neck hurts, leaning down to kiss him like this, so he shifts them until they’re both upright again, continuing the kiss her as he sits beside her. “Mmph,” he mumbles against her lips, and she makes a questioning noise in response. Moving to press kisses against her neck, he says in a teasing voice: “You’re rewarding bad behaviour, Case.”

She laughs. “You’re unaffected by positive reinforcement,” she says, drily, arching her neck against the slope of his nose, which he’s started to learn means that she likes what he’s doing. He wants to smile, but he wants to kiss her more, so he does just that.

“I don’t know what that means,” Derek replies, sentence broken by the insistent need to press soft kisses to her sweet, tempting mouth.

Casey’s lips part against his, and he can hear the audible hitch of her breath. “Not important,” she whispers against him, before her hand fists in his hair to tug him closer. Her tongue licks at him, drawing a moan from within when he feels it touch the roof of his mouth.

She’s a damn perfectionist, and kissing has not been an exception.

When they first began dating, Casey would kiss him how he imagines the heroines in her sappy romance novels would kiss: with practiced care.Derek, on the other hand, kisses like he’s starving for it, starving for her. And he is. He imagines that Casey actually prefers it his way, because now she copies him when they make out, she kisses him sloppy and messy and hungry—sometimes even _angry_ , if they’re fighting beforehand as foreplay—like his tongue holds all of his secrets and she wants to pry them out of him, one by one.

Derek pulls away to look at her. He likes to do this sometimes: pull back, in the middle of making out, just to look at her face. Her kiss-swollen lips, the dark, heavy-lidded eyes she gives him, the way her teeth snag her bottom lip and she tilts her chin up, following him, pleading with him to kiss her again. He doesn’t. He holds himself back, just for a moment, until he can get what he wants: the sweet, subconscious whine being pulled from her throat, begging him to come back to her. Casey hates begging, thinks it’s beneath her character, but he loves it when she begs for him, even if she isn’t entirely using her words. Hearing those sounds from her—that’s his reason for fucking breathing.

“Jesus, Case,” he mutters, and he cups her face between both of his hands, allowing his thumb to press into the flesh of her bottom lip. It parts under his force.

“Mm,” Case says, muffled by the hand he has by her mouth. “C’me back.”

“Uh huh,” he replies, without a second to spare, because he’s a sucker, and he’d do anything she asked of him, as long as she kept letting him to kiss her. Casey’s lip twitches; she knows she has him by the balls, and she thrives in it. He doesn’t give a fuck, if he’s being really honest. All he wants is to kiss her some more. He wants to kiss her for-fucking- _ever_. She pulls at his shoulder until he scoots closer, but then he glances down, and—

He groans. He’s not sure if he’s in pain or lust, but _God_.

Casey makes a questioning sound, gripping his chin until he look at her face again. “What?”

He falls, burying himself in the crook of her neck. He can feel himself turning pink. “The fucking jersey,” he says into her skin.

“The what?” she asks, like she didn’t hear him.

He licks at her neck a few times like they’ve got all the time in the world, his tongue tracing a pattern in her skin, until she shudders and he’s satisfied by her responsiveness. “Jersey,” he mumbles, with more clarity. “You’re wearing mine.”

“Oh,” is all she says. _Oh_. As if it’s no big deal.

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” he mocks, pulling away to look her in the eye. She’s smiling when he catches sight of her face, an odd combination of smug and pleased, and he wants to kiss that look off her face, so he does. He nips at her lip gently, licking into her mouth again. “You have,” he murmurs, between kisses, “no idea.”

Casey takes a breath between a particularly long kiss, as if she’s drowning. “Hm?” she asks, disoriented, eyes hazy.

He kisses her again, because she looks fucking great like that. “Drive me crazy,” he says into her mouth, adjacent to kisses and sucks and bites. His hand goes to the shirt, and he slips it under, smoothing his thumb over the elastic of her yoga pants. He can feel her abs clench beneath his fingertips, and he presses his palm higher, into warm skin, before kissing her harder. “Drive me so fucking crazy, Case, you’re unreal.”

“Mm,” Casey says, sounding content. “S’just a shirt.”

He grips her hip, opens his mouth to kiss her deeper, to make her _understand_. “It’s my name on it,” he tells her, voice gritty and low, when he needs to take a moment to breathe. “It’s not just a shirt—you’re wearing my name.” _As if you’re mine_ , he thinks, even though he knows she is, and she knows he is hers.

Casey nuzzles beneath his jaw. “Der.”

He kisses her—once, a sweet, wholesome, gentle kiss, nothing like the others. “If I didn’t like it so much, I’d rip it off you.”

Casey gasps, a leg curling upward, around Derek’s side. “Take it off,” she urges.

And he could, because they’ve done that before, while kissing: gotten heated and desperate for more, but still mildly terrified of what was to come, so they’d taken off her shirt and he’d looked at her, wonder in his eyes, before she’d pulled his hand to her chest—full and gorgeous as her nipples pebbled against her bra, and he’d touched her there with a thigh between her legs, rutting, as he came in his pants like a fucking virgin. Which he isn’t, but Jesus, Casey makes him feel that way sometimes.

“I don’t want to take it off,” he tells her instead, leaning down to kiss the crevice between her breasts, wishing he could bury himself there and never come out. “I want you to wear this forever.” He looks up at her, tames a few of the wispy hairs she has running loose with his fingers.

“This, and nothing else?” Casey asks, with a flirtatious smile.

He shudders, then says, voice dark, “Uh huh.” He watches as her pupils dilate, wonders if she can see his doing the same. She’s a goddamn tease in the best way—eyes knowing, despite the fact that they haven’t even done more together yet.

His hand is still under her— _his_ —shirt, inching higher. He has a destination, of course: he wants to touch her tits, reminisces now on how her eyes went wide the first time he called them that; she’d said it was gross, but there was this fire in her eyes that he hadn’t seen before, something that gave him the sneaking suspicion that she actually liked it. She liked when he was dirty, especially dirty to her, about her. He pushes himself until he’s breathing against her cheek, breath hot on her skin.

“D,” she murmurs, and he loves when she calls him that. He gives a noise of acknowledgment, still working his hand up to touch her chest. “I want you to—”

She cuts herself off. He stops moving, confused, because she’s asked him to touch her boobs before—very explicitly, with minimal hesitations. Then, a ping of realization overcomes him.

She repeats it, kind of. She’s writhing under him, like she's uncomfortable and aroused. “Can you maybe—”

He hears it in her tone. He _knows_. “Yeah?” he breathes, because _fuck_ , she wants him to do that? He makes sure to look her in the eye, wants her to be sure of what she’s saying before he does anything, because he’s afraid he might just be dreaming this.

Casey squirms, the centre of her pressed up against his clothed abdomen. “Yeah, please,” she whispers, face soft and open and sure.

Derek sucks in a breath, then kisses her for that little _please_ , because she didn’t need to give him that; he thinks he’s the one that should be saying it, honestly, _has_ wanted to say it, but he hadn’t wanted to push her. “How?” he asks, quietly, to the corner of her lips.

Her breath catches before she says, hoarse, “Can you—like, with your—your mouth?”

He moans, loud, the sound ripping from him before he even gets a chance to control it himself. Fuck, God, she wants him to— 

“Yeah, _yeah_ ,” he says, then repeats it with more urgency, slinking off the bed in two seconds flat to get on his knees. He pulls at her legs until they’re hanging off the bed, her ass on the edge of it, and as they look at each other—her, with trust in her eyes—he tugs at the bottom of her pants so she’ll get the hint.

“Oh,” she says, going red, then lifts up so she can pull them down and off. He doesn’t watch, instead takes interest in the ceiling; for some odd reason, he wants to give her privacy doing this, even though he _knows_ he’s going to see her half-naked in a few seconds. When he’s pretty sure she’s properly undressed, he attempts working up the nerve to look at her, butends up glancing up at her face instead when she taps at his cheek with two fingers. “Done,” she tells him, quiet. He looks at her.

Her face is so vulnerable like this. _Casey_ , he thinks, wishing he could kiss her easily from his position, then promises to himself to kiss her somewhere else to make up for it. He inches his eyes beneath her chin, skating over the hockey jersey, and finally settling on the space between her legs, closed.

He turns his face to kiss her knee, the closest body part to him at the moment. “Hey,” he whispers. “You okay?”

“I’m good,” she tells him, but he can tell she’s nervous from the way her voice shakes. His heart clenches, and he’s feeling all these _things_ inside him, emotions swelling up in his chest, and he momentarily fears he’s going to blurt out _I love you_ in the middle of eating her out. Once again, like the virgin he is _not_.

“Can I, uh.” His hands go to her knees, gentle, not wanting to scare or push her. “Can I…”

She swallows, hard, hard enough he can hear it, then spreads her legs open, widening until he can see it: that pink centre of her. She isn’t bare, but he prefers it like that—she’s fucking _real_ , perfectly Casey, thin brown curls trimmed and tidy above her. He feels his mouth fall open, hopes it’s okay that he’s staring at her, and then he pulls her in. Closer, until she’s half-off the edge of her bed, and centimetres from his mouth.

He kisses her thigh with an open mouth, with tongue, similar to how he’s going to kiss her there, when he does. Lifts his hands until one grasps her hip for purchase, and the other is near her cunt. He wonders if she’d be scandalized by him calling it her cunt, too—she’d probably yell at him a bit, but like it all the same. He smiles to himself.

“What is it?” Casey asks, nervous, when she catches him smiling.

He kisses her thigh again, soft and firm with muscle beneath his mouth. “Nothing,” he mumbles, before push his hand at her thigh until she spreads her legs even wider open, letting him see _everything_. “Fuck,” he breathes, heaving against her like a desperate, starving lunatic. “ _Fuck_ , Case.”

He hasn’t even touched her yet—not properly—so he does. His fingers graze along the lines of her cunt, getting wet in their wake, spreading her even further open so he gets to know her, and he can hear her gasp at the soft touches. He wants to remember everything about this. 

Derek looks up at her, and she’s biting her lip, hard, worrying it between her teeth. “Derek,” she says, like a warning and a plead. His favourite fucking sound: her saying his name like that.

He slips one finger lower, until he can feel the opening of her, then presses it inside to the sound of her biting back a moan. The finger slides in with ease; he can _hear_ it slide inside her, this loud, wet sound. He pushes and pull, slides in and out, and thinks to himself, _I’m fucking her. I’m fucking her with my fingers._

She sounds indecent—her whines, her wetness.

He’s going to die.

“I’m gonna—now, okay?” he husks, slipping his finger out but tracing the seam of her entrance, reverent in how he watches her. He’s never been _this_ close to a girl before; it feels more intimate than actual sex, almost, having his mouth on the most private part of her.

Casey groans, quiet and contained like she’s holding herself back, when his thumb brushes against the nub away from her entrance—her clit, he thinks. He’s so hard inside his jeans, aching up against the zipper. “Yeah, okay, put your mouth on—”

And that’s all he needed, so he does: right on her entrance, first, tracing it with his tongue now instead with his finger.

She hisses. Derek pulls back. “Is it—sorry, was that—?” he says, stumbling, wondering what he did wrong.

“No, no,” Casey whispers, gripping his hair and pulling his head closer to her cunt. “God, that was— _good_ , more, keep—”

He opens his mouth against her, breathing hot, waiting until she can’t take it anymore and tugs him back to her by the hair. Derek likes the feeling of it—her cunt soft and wet beneath his lips, the slip and slide of it because of how obscenely wet she’s become. He loves the feeling of her hands in his hair, forcing him in the place he belongs: on his knees, in front of her, mouth open and salivating and drenching her with his spit, making her even wetter than she had been before.

He presses a kiss at her opening, and he can hear her above him, breathing a laugh at that. Casey’s thumb caresses his skull, nails scratching pleasantly at his scalp, through the mess of his hair. He wants to kiss her, so he kisses her cunt again, deeper this time, slow, like he’d kiss her mouth if they were making out, and he’s given the greatest response: a desperate, choked moan.

 _My girl_ , he says to himself, in the privacy of his mind, thinking of the name she has branded across her back as he kneels before her.

Widening his mouth, he licks the rough flat of his tongue to every inch of her that he can reach, until his tastebuds are flooded with this unmistakable earthiness that’s nothing but Casey. He works his jaw against her with rhythm, licking, licking, licking, harder each time, until she’s whimpering above him and her hips are canting upward, until she’s practically rutting against his face in tandem with his own rhythm.

It’s when she thrusts particularly hard against his face, that he can no longer take it; he reaches down to pop the button of his jeans and push them lower, get his dick out of his pants so he can touch himself. He licks into her as he fucks into his fist, pushing his tongue deep within her, collecting her wetness on his tongue.

Squeezing the head of his cock, he gives an accidental sob into her centre, wetness smearing over his face. He licks his lips, then dives in again, until she finally hears him—the slapping sound of his hand over his cock, echoing throughout the room, drowned out by the hunger and enthusiasm he’d had for eating her out.

“Derek, are you—?” Casey asks, sounding shocked. Then, he realizes: she hasn’t seen his dick, before. And here he is, whipping it out as he eats her out, like a rookie.

“Sorry,” Derek says around a moan, and he licks at her desperately, hoping she’ll be distracted by his intensity and ignore what he’s doing. “Fuck, I couldn’t help it,” he insists, between licks, and he hears Casey shudder in response, tightening in his head of hair.

“It’s okay, you’re so—ugh, I hate how hot you are,” she bemoans, urging him even closer to her by the strands of his hair. He whimpers, licking her faster. It barely registers in his mind that this is the first time she’s ever used that word to describe him—hot. And she said it while he was jerking off in front of her, licking her out. Fuck, he _loves_ her, he fucking loves her, ugh. “God damnit, Derek,” Casey grits, like she’s angry, but he knows she isn’t. How Casey sounds when she’s angry and turned on are, for some reason, a little too similar. It’s something that, when he discovered it, he was innately pleased about.

Quickening his pace, he alternates between licks at her clit and entrance, with slow, steady movements. “C’mon, princess,” he moans around her clitoris, humming, and Casey made this bizarre noise that sends him reeling—he’s never heard her make that kind of sound before, not even remotely, and suddenly he wants to find out how to do it again. He jerks himself harder, faster, thinking to himself, and then:

“Princess,” he tries, repeats, even softer than before, and she shivers—this full-body, brilliant twitch, legs shaking beneath his hands. File that under: things that turn Casey on. He’ll put the folder right next to his meticulously organized ‘things that piss Casey off’ file. “Jesus, oh, you’re always so fucking hot— _how_ are you—”

“Please,” Casey gasps, her thighs tightening around his head. He tightens his grip around his cock, collecting the pre-come until he’s able to fuck into his fist with ease. “Please, can you suck—?”

“Yeah,” he groans, because he wants to give her everything she asks for it, and he sucks at her clit between his lips, in pulses, licking at it until it’s swollen on his tongue and she starts making this high, whining sound. _Harder_ , she says above him, so he does it harder; he sucks at her, and then she pushes his head down in a sudden, sharp movement. He buries himself in her, alright with dying if it’s by suffocation of making her come, and she _does_. He can feel the strength of her orgasm when she shouts it, feels it spasming through her cunt, on his lips, and he opens his mouth wider to lick at her, desperate to know how she tastes when she comes. He gasps when he feels a bit of liquid enter his mouth, furiously jacking himself until he comes all over his fist, wet and so messy that it gets all over his shirt. Casey is going to think it’s disgusting.

“Shit, sorry,” Derek gasps, still licking her, as his toes curl through his orgasm, terrified she’ll be repulsed that he came so messily in her room. “I had to—”

“Shut up,” Casey replies, voice an utter wreck, wholly destroyed, before she pulls him up onto the bed again, next to her. “I don’t care, c’mere—”

“But I’m—” he starts, voice hoarse, before she kisses him with such blind aggression that he can feel the kiss stinging in his teeth. Her entire torso is pressed against him, against his shirt that’s stained with his orgasm, but she doesn’t even seem to care, kissing him harder and wrapping her legs around her like this cuddly octopus.

Fuck, he—

“Love you,” he blurts, between kisses, unable to help himself. It’s like she pulled it out of him, ripped it from his chest with her bare hands, triumphantly, like he lost some game he wasn’t even sure they were playing to begin with. “Fuck,” he adds, when he realizes what he just said, terror seizing him.

“Shut up,” she says again, voice still a mess, and he wonders if she even heard him. Maybe he’ll get away with it. “ _Shut up_ , Derek,” she repeats, now sounding like she wants to cry, and her kiss turns softer, gentler, slowing. Okay, maybe not. “Fuck, I love you too, just shut up, okay, you’re so—”

What he is, he doesn’t find out. It’s drowned by a desperate, extraordinary kiss—one that sends him melting against her in thanks, in relief, for loving him back, by some freak of nature. And then she gives him another, this time the kiss slick with salty tears, happy ones.

Then, another. And another.

And another.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated! 
> 
> \+ **me, elsewhere** :  
> twitter: [falsettowrites](http://falsettodrop.tumblr.com) | tumblr: [falsettodrop](http://falsettodrop.tumblr.com), [viewsfromthestyx](http://viewsfromthestyx.tumblr.com).


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